The Importance of Saying Please and Thank You
by cactusnell
Summary: Molly is teaching Sherlock to remember his manners, but he finds turnabout is fair play! Sherlolly


During the time in which John Watson had lived with Sherlock Holmes he had embarked on a campaign to educate the world's only consulting detective on social amenities. Educate may not, in fact, be the correct term to use, as Sherlock was already well aware of these social courtesies, having been well brought up. Remembering to use them was another matter.

John had, for the most part, given up until the awful Christmas party, when the detective had so insulted his pathologist, Molly Hooper, that she, rather courageously in John's opinion, called him on it. And, to John's surprise, Sherlock had apologized. Sincerely. And with a kiss on the cheek, no less. But the good doctor soon began to think that it was not his nagging, but the other good doctor's sad eyes which had brought about this new behavior. Perhaps Dr. Hooper would be a good influence?

Molly Hooper had known the detective even longer than John Watson, but she had never considered herself among those who counted to him. The unexpected apology had boosted her confidence in this regard. His turning to her for help in his time of need had done even more, and his confidence in her to keep secret his survival, and his two year campaign to rid the world of Moriarty's minions had made her begin to suspect her value to him, as a friend and confidant. When Sherlock returned home, he found a more confident and secure Molly Hooper.

Their lives had now settled to the point of a more than comfortable friendship. Molly realized that she had, to some extent, taken the place of John Watson in Sherlock's life, Of course, John was still his best friend, but it was getting more and more difficult for them to spend time together, as John was currently occupied with his wife, Mary, and their infant daughter. So, Molly had taken up some of the slack, accompanying him on some of his cases, watching crap telly in the evenings, and attempting to teach him manners. Some things were easier to do than others.

"Molly, I need to see those tissue samples immediately!", Sherlock practically shouted as he barrelled through the door of the lab.

Molly Hooper continued to examine the slide in the microscope in front of her.

"It's very important!"

She looked at him briefly, and returned to the 'scope.

"Pleeeeease…" he almost whined.

Dr. Hooper went quickly to retrieve said samples from the refrigerated storage unit, and returned to the impatient man, holding the petri dish in front of her, but not letting go until he had said, with a sigh of surrender, "Thank you, Molly."

Mission accomplished, she returned to her own work.

A few days later, the circumstances were very similar. Sherlock needed the assistance of a trained medical eye at a crime scene, and had texted Dr. Hooper to advise her of the matter.

COME TO 17 MARLOES RD AT ONCE - SHERLOCK

?- MOLLY

NEED ASSISTANCE - SHERLOCK

? - MOLLY

PLEASE? - SHERLOCK

I WILL BE THERE - MOLLY

The detective had just put the mobile back into the pocket of his coat, when it signalled an incoming text. He quickly read the latest missive from his etiquette tutor.

I HAVEN'T LEFT YET! - MOKKY

THANK YOU? - SHERLOCK

VERY GOOD! ON MY WAY! - MOLLY

Sherlock smiled indulgently as he replaced his mobile yet again. In some ways the petite woman reminded him of his mother, constantly telling him to mind his manners. But he found Molly's smiles much more likely to bring about the desired result than Mummy's sharp slaps to the back of his head. Not that he would ever tell her that!

Weeks turned into months in Molly Hooper's campaign to introduce Sherlock Holmes to the pleasant niceties of social interaction, and his behavior had been improving, noticeably. A number of their friends and acquaintances had remarked on his improved social skills, and Molly sometimes beamed with pride when they did so, like a proud mother whose son had just won a spelling bee. But something was beginning to bother the great detective. It seemed that Molly Hooper never really asked him for anything, so he never did get to hear her say "please", or "thank you". For some reason, this began to annoy him. The fact that it annoyed him, annoyed him even more. He wanted to hear more say "please". To him! And his mind was beginning to travel in some rather unsavory directions when he started to think of ways in which to bring this about. He was thinking along these lines one Friday afternoon when he visited her in her lab at St. Barts.

"Molly, I noticed that the season finale of the program you're so interested in is on tonight. I must admit that it has piqued my interest as well. Would you mind if I joined you this evening?"

"No, not at all, Sherlock, although I certainly can't fathom why you would find the Kardashians at all interesting."

"I find the program to an fascinating portrayal of the social mores of the twenty-first century, Molly. In the past, individuals have become famous for some contribution, be it positive or negative, to society as a whole. I am currently endeavoring to come to terms with the fact that an entire family can become so undeniably famous for little more than the fact that they are famous! It seems to present itself as a sort of cultural mobius strip, don't you think? And is this a result of the current state of our culture, or is the current state of our culture a result…"

"Enough! You're making my head spin!"

Sherlock took a breath and said, "So, may I come over this evening?" He paused slightly, before adding with a slight smirk, "Please?"

"Of course you can, you git! I'm just surprised you asked. You always just show up and park yourself on my couch!" Molly spoke without any trace of aggravation, for, truth be told, she loved spending time with the tall man with the beautiful eyes, and the now improving manners.

"Thank you, Molly. I shall see you at seven, then. Don't bother to cook, I'll bring takeaway." And with that, Sherlock Holmes took his leave until later that evening, the first part of his plan to make Molly Hooper say "please" now taken care of.

Just before seven, Sherlock pushed his way through Molly's front door, laden down with bags of takeaway food, and a bottle of wine. She helped him as he unpacked, and placed some plates and utensils on the table, as Sherlock opened the wine. They had an hour to go until the show in question came on, so they ate at a leisurely pace.

"Sherlock, are you sure you wouldn't rather watch 'The Blacklist'? I know you like it. I could record my show and watch it later."

"Molly, I know you record 'The Blacklist'. We can watch that later, if we're not busy…"

"What's with this whole Kardashian thingy, anyway, Sherlock? And no more of that sociological crap, huh. Is it really the big booties?"

"Booties, Molly? I fail to understand…"

"Their bums, Sherlock! Derrieres! Buttocks! Their bloody arses, Sherlock." Molly was now giggling at the look on the detectives face, realizing that he had given no thought at all to the size of a Kardashian posterior.

"Molly, are you trying to tell me that their influence on the modern cultural zeitgeist is due to the size of their hindquarters? Interesting, however…"

"Never mind! Never mind!", she said, waving her hand in dismissal. "Let's just watch. I want to see your reaction."

So, they cleaned up the dishes and headed for the couch. And, just as she suspected she would, Molly found Sherlock's reactions every bit as amusing as the program. The expressions on his face ranged from pure disbelief, to outrage, to boredom and back again. By the end, he was simply shaking his head and muttering. He only stopped when Molly excused herself, saying, "Look, Sherlock, if you're going to hang around to watch 'The Blacklist', I'm going to change out of my work clothes and into my comfy sweats, okay? Be right back!"

When she rose from the couch, the detective's eyes followed her, but not just his eyes, as it turned out. Molly did not hear the bedroom door open behind her as she slipped her jumper over her head, She gave a startled cry as two long arms enveloped her waist. Then one hand moved upward to gently push the hair away from neck, and she felt warm lips descend to the flesh under her ear. She found she couldn't bring herself to speak as he traced soft kisses down her neck and onto her bare shoulder. It was only when he turned her around to bury himself in her neck from the opposite direction that she found her voice.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"I know I'm a bit out of practice, Dr. Hooper, but surely you can figure it out." And Molly, had, indeed, figured it out. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him even closer. The kiss he delivered was devastatingly passionate as he moved her slowly toward her bed. Gently he guided her to a sitting position on the edge, then quickly unbuttoned and removed his shirt. He soon joined her, pressing her back onto the pillows and showering her body, or however much of her body which was currently exposed, with attention. He continued to kiss, and caress, and nip, but nothing more, until Molly thought she would lose her mind. His talented fingers were merely flirting with areas with which she hoped he would become more familiar. But still he held back. The tension, while exquisite, was killing her!

"Oh, god, Sherlock, please!" Molly practically moaned as he released her lips once more.

"I'm sorry, Molly, I didn't quite catch that?"

"Sherlock, pleeeeeeeease…"

"Well, Molly, since you asked so politely….." And those were the last coherent words spoken. At least until the wee hours of the morning, when the consulting detective pulled the sleeping pathologist even closer to him, pulled a coverlet over them, kissed her on the back of her head, and whispered into her tangled hair, "Thank you."

Several months later, Molly was surprised to return to her flat after a long day to discover the man in her life pacing nervously in her sitting room. The fact that he was there was not the surprise, since they almost always spent their evenings, and nights, together, be it here or at Baker Street. But the nervousness was. Sherlock Holmes seldom lost his cool demeanor, and to see him this way made her a bit apprehensive. At least until he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. All without saying a word. Molly took the box, and opened it to find a lovely diamond ring on a golden band.

"Read the inscription, Molly," Sherlock barely got the words out of his nervously dry mouth. She took the ring from the box and lifted it to her eyes in order to read the inside. It was a single word. "Please?"

Tears were falling from her eyes, as Sherlock tentatively asked, "Well?"

"Well, Sherlock, since you asked so politely…" But that was as far as she got as the no longer nervous detective closed the distance to pull her close and happily snog the breath out of her.

Not even a month passed before a select group of family and friends gathered at a small church nears Sherlock's parents' cottage in the countryside of Surrey. And, although everybody was smiling when Sherlock placed the gold band on her left hand, only Molly was smiling because she knew the inscription inside that band. There was no commemoration of the date, no romantic entanglement of initials, no coded message. Just a simple, and very heartfelt, "Thank you."


End file.
